Painless
by Sophia Banks
Summary: *"A-are you going to jump?" "No," he replied simply, his voice sweet with a crisp edge to it- like honeycomb. Isabelle nearly sighed in relief but then the stranger interrupted with something far less heartening, "I'm going to step, then I will fall. Jumping seems like far too much effort." (Minor OCxMycroft)


**Rated T for mild swears and suicidal themes and mentions of drug use (Sherlock)**

* * *

Isabelle Long wasn't exactly sure what compelled her to go up to the roof.  
She needed fresh air she supposed, away from the suffocating people that talked endlessly about her life. How she was wasting it, how she was Isabelle and that meant her future was bleak. It was all spoken with saccharine-ly sweet intentions, but made the poor girl's head spin and bile to rise in her throat. Without a word to anyone she had moved through the restaurant and made her way through several doors and staircases until she reached a door that in reality-should have been locked. She didn't even stop to consider it as she pushed her way through.  
Isabelle was met by a warm breeze that smelled like London, so not the most pleasant of odors. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the near dark surrounding her, when her gaze landed upon a tall figure standing near the edge of the roof.  
Isabelle's eyes widened in shock and realization and she lurched forwards, stopping soon after at a safe distance.

He was wearing a gray suit. He was a decently normal weight-maybe a bit on the heavy side, tall, pale and dark haired. But that was all she could really see of him with his back turned to her.  
He didn't turn around, but she could tell he knew she was there. She heard him exhale slowly, as though preparing for something…

"A-are you going to jump?"

"No," he replied simply, his voice sweet with a crisp edge to it- like honeycomb. Isabelle nearly sighed in relief but then the stranger interrupted with something far less heartening, "I'm going to _step,_ then I will fall. Jumping seems like far too much effort."  
"Right," Isabelle yelped, "We wouldn't want to put too much work into our suicide now _would we_!" she tried very hard not to shout, but failed. Sweat had quickly begun to form on her forehead as she realized just what was happening and what she needed to do. She wished that she had brought her jacket, which had her phone in it.  
"Of course not," he mumbled.

She saw his hands form fists at his sides, and her mouth went dry. He was going to jump-er-step!  
"Wait!" she reached out to him though there was a gaping distance between them still, "Please don't do it. At-at least talk to me first!"  
His posture tensed, but she saw him spare a glance over his shoulder, "Do you really want to form an emotional attachment to me before I die? It will only make the therapy more expensive."  
His voice was cold and unattached, but Isabelle wasn't to be deterred. As frightening as the prospect of him falling was, she needed to try.  
"Yeah well, I have a decent enough salary," she replied, moving a step forwards, "So…what's your name?"  
He paused, let out a soft, rather unhappy huff before replying, "Michael."

"Oh, that's a-"

"Before you say that I have a nice name. It isn't. It is an average name; that is the point of it."

Isabelle pursed her lips. He wasn't going to take her pandering. Changing gears she moved one more step forwards, grateful that his back was turned to her, "What do you do for a living then?"  
"I…" he paused again, "I possess I minor position in the British Government."  
"Government? That does sound depressing," Isabelle muttered to herself, brushing back a few stray hairs, "A-and what about family?"  
"Both my parents are alive, and I have a brother. Are you quite finished? I would rather get on with this before it becomes too dark."  
He was so horribly casual about the whole thing; it was painful to listen to. The fact that he would be so unconcerned about the coming end of his life was unbelievable. Silently the young woman edged forwards a few more steps, wondering if she might be quick enough to grab him if he decided to fall. "I'm not done." she told him firmly, "Why are you doing this?"

Michael turned his head towards her again, allowing her full few of his long nose and stormy gray eyes. Something caught in her throat. Goodness he was… not _just_ tall and well dressed. Besides that, she noted that he couldn't have been more than thirty years old.  
"Because the world is not fair," he replied simply, "and I would rather not put up with it any more. It's best for everyone- most importantly _myself_ \- that I end it now or else I will be unhappy for the rest of my days. It hardly seems worth it."  
Isabelle swallowed the lump when his head turned again to face the nothingness that might be his eternal end. Desperation swallowed her as unshed tears burned her eyes.  
"But what about your family? Won't they miss you?"  
Michael scoffed, "My parents will be heartbroken at first I imagine, I was their first child after all. But soon they will get over it as all people do-and should- and they will return to their everyday life as though I never existed."  
"You think they don't love you?"  
"No, they do. I am their progeny and they are naturally kind people. That does not mean my death will upset them for eternity, does it. It is useless to cling to someone when they are dead."  
Isabelle thought back to her parents, and how she still grieved for them every day. She shook her head though he couldn't see it, "Love doesn't just end after someone dies," she said confidently.

"But it will."

Michael sounded fairly insistent on that point, and Isabelle wanted to argue with him further. On the other hand, he was one step away from suicide, and riling him up probably wasn't the best course of action. "And I suppose your brother is the same?" she moved again, nearly four or five feet from him. She could feel the tension radiating off him despite his cool exterior. Maybe if he hadn't fallen yet that meant he wasn't going to? Or maybe, he was humoring her… his last conversation.  
"My brother is in a drug den somewhere, completely oblivious to my existence at the moment. Perhaps one day he will become lucid enough to realize I'm gone, though I shan't hold my breath."

 _Shit!_

"I'm sorry," the young woman said swiftly, "that must be hard."  
Michael scoffed again. He ran a pale, long fingered hand down his sleeve, smoothing out superficial wrinkles in the fabric, "It is, of course it is… I must say your tactics for getting me off this roof are rather clichéd."  
"Oh yeah? Care to rate me on my performance? Five out of ten! A nice try but not enough to save you?" she wiped at her eyes absent mindedly as the tears finally freed themselves.  
"I did tell you it was a fool's errand to stay."  
"It's never a fool's errand to try and save someone," she replied softly, folding her arms and hunching her shoulders.  
When he glanced back at her, a wrinkle had formed between his eyebrows, "It is, if the person you are trying to save-is me."

Isabelle shook her head violently, since he was looking at her now, "God, don't sell yourself short like that! You just assume that people don't love you, or that they'll just forget you. There's so much more to life. Like, I just met you and I… I think you're pretty cool."  
She heard him laugh. It was an odd, breathy laugh as though he didn't do it very often. She saw his straight white teeth, and his tongue run across his thin upper lip. Something inside of her twisted like a pretzel.  
"My Dear," he said in a condescending tone, the nickname making Isabelle stiffen, "I am the most intelligent person you have ever met. I understand people better than you ever will. I can read them like a book. You for instance, are a single, low self-esteemed, waitress in a nearly bankrupt café with two…sisters, that you live with. They treat you like dirt, but you take it because you feel you deserve it. You are unhappy with your life, and yet feel as though you have a right to try and save mine. So as you can see, I hardly sell myself short."  
Isabelle let out a strangled sort of cry, anger welling up inside of her. How…how did he know all that? Before she could stop herself she snapped, "Oh I get it. So no one likes you because you're an arse!"

 _Shit, shit, shit!_

 _Smooth Isabelle, save a man's life by telling him that no one likes him!_  
He laughed again, "Now you're getting it," he cooed, and turned to the ledge, his foot extending to step off.  
"NO!" Isabelle cried, running three more steps towards him, knowing she couldn't reach him in time…

"For god's sake, you really are pathetic aren't you."

He hadn't done it.

Michael was still at the edge, looking poised to move but somehow frozen in place. Isabelle tried to slow her rapid breathing, "Don't jump. Please."  
" _Step_ ," he corrected pointlessly, running the toe of his well-polished shoe against the edge of the roof, "and I will, as soon as you leave. Even if you stop me now, I have the ability to try again," he shoved his hands into his pockets.  
"I know," Isabelle ran a hand through her chestnut hair several times in agitation, "humor me."  
She moved forwards slowly until she was so close she thought she could feel the heat of his body, he smelled oddly like peppermint and…cleaning supplies. Neither was very strong, but she thought she rather liked it. Trying very hard to let go of the cruel way he dissected her, she spoke, "I know that life is hard… I've been suffering too. But I also know that-that things can get better, there's always hope that you'll find something or someone in your life that will make everything more bearable. Ending it now, you'll never know what good you could have done. What moments you'll have missed. And you'll never know just how badly your family will miss you. Or how much I will suffer having watched you fall," her voice petered off pathetically.

"What is the point?" he demanded sharply, removing his hands from his pockets and twisting at his fingers as though there were rings on them, "

Without thought her hand extended and she touched his shoulder with her fingertips. This was apparently a mistake.  
The contact made him spin around suddenly in surprise, his foot slipping against the hard edge of the roof. He tipped backwards.  
Had she enough time, Isabelle would have screamed when she saw that he was falling. Instead, out of instinct she instead forced herself forwards, acting faster than she thought possible. Her long pale arms wrapped around his middle and despite her slight weight, she managed to pull him towards her.  
The two staggered towards the middle of the roof, Isabelle holding on to Michael for dear life as though she was the one that had nearly died.  
Her face was pressed against his chest, unable to remover her arms she merely stared and whispered,  
"It's ok…I've got you, _I've got you, I've got you_ ," like a mantra. Silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

She could hear his rapid heartbeat, and his uneven breathing against her. His body was indeed warm, and soft and comfortable to hold onto. She could get used to it, as inappropriate as that thought was at the moment.  
Eventually she felt his hands rest against her back, "Are you alright?"  
 _Did he seriously just ask that?  
_ Carefully she pulled away from him, looking at his pale face which had now gone a bit red with embarrassment. She smiled faintly at him, "Yes, I am now."  
"That was really…quite frightening," he mumbled, crossing his arms- perhaps self-consciously- across his stomach, "I would thank you, if that hadn't gone against my original intention."  
Isabelle wasn't sure how to proceed, merely running with what was left of her draining adrenaline, "You're welcome."

They stood in surprisingly comfortable silence, broken by Michael breathing out shakily. It seemed the excitement was ending for him too, and his tall imposing figure was slowly crumbling. His gray eyes turned to his shoes, his expression turning troubled and sad. He slowly lowered himself to the ground and put his face in his large hands, knees pulled up to his chest.  
Isabelle fell to her knees, "Michael, it's going to be ok… I'm… I'm not going to let this happen again," she swallowed a lump in her throat.  
"I don't dare ask what your plan is to save me," he mumbled against his palms, sniffling pathetically. He reminded her of a small child, beaten down by his classmates and forced to cry far from prying eyes- so vulnerable and alone. And perhaps that wasn't too far from the truth.  
"Serious though Michael, are you ok?"  
He removed his hands from his face, revealing red rimmed eyes, "You are relentless My Dear, truly." This time the name didn't sound condescending, rather charming actually. _As though she meant_ _something to him_. And considering they'd known each other for a mere ten minutes (give or take) that was rather flattering.  
He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a red handkerchief which he wiped at his eyes with in a rather frustrated fashion, "No," he offered a smile that didn't extend to his eyes.  
"Well, I guess you wouldn't be."  
Michael squared the handkerchief again and tucked it safely back into his pocket, "I feel as though I must come to terms with a few things," he said crisply, "but I shall survive." She could tell that he putting on the indifferent mask he had worn earlier when standing on the ledge, as though hiding his depression was as easy as replacing the cork on a bottle of wine (which Isabelle found rather hard actually, but you get the idea).

"Good…"she mumbled, looking at her hands.

"My uh, name's Isabelle by the way," she extended her hand to shake, which he accepted. His hands were cold and a little bit sweaty, but she decided to ignore it. They pulled themselves to their feet, Michael quickly brushing at his suit to ensure perfection.  
Isabelle kicked her toe into the concrete floor beneath her, "I-I don't suppose you'd like to go have dinner with me or…something," she offered, nervously rubbing at her bare arm. She knew her relatives were still downstairs, but at the moment she didn't in the slightest bit care. They probably wouldn't even miss her!  
He raised an eyebrow at her, "And why would you want to do that?"  
It was her turn to scoff, "Because you're interesting and attractive, and I don't want you to be alone." Her cheeks turned bright red, "Uh, forget the second one…"  
Michael blinked at her in disbelief, "I don't think I can."  
"Wonderful."  
He laughed genuinely (if still a little oddly) at her, pulling down his suit jacket sheepishly, "If you truly want to share a meal, I won't object," he shrugged resignedly.  
Isabelle grinned, "Great!"

…

Sharing a meal she learned that his name was actually Mycroft Holmes (it suited him better actually…) and that his brother was a detective (he otherwise didn't speak of him). She learned that he was on a diet (she strongly objected to that, he blushed and finished his meal -and dessert- without further picking at it) and she got the impression that his childhood wasn't very normal or healthy. She learned that he played the piano, and that when it came to sharing information he was _very_ sparing.

But most importantly:

She learned that Mycroft Holmes had been very worth saving.

* * *

 ***Now edited and extended (whether that makes it better remains to be seen)**

 **For those of you mad that I'm taking so long with "A Long way to Holmes" I'm halfway done but this fic demanded my attention more.**

 **Thanks so much for reading. Please review and Favorite! (Pointing out typos, or things that seem OOC are perfectly welcome. Just be nice about it of course. :)**


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